Oh, There You Are
by xenascully
Summary: Another TAG to Oh Brother Where Art Thou, and could even be a follow up to the one-shot I put up earlier tagging it. But it's not necessary to read both. What happens when Dean inevitably gets Sam out.


**Oh, There You Are**

 **AN: Just because...like...reasons. Another TAG to Oh Brother Where Art Thou, and could even be a follow up to the one-shot I put up earlier tagging it. But it's not necessary to read both.**

 **What happens when Dean inevitably gets Sam out.**

 ***~.~***

In the end, all Dean had to do was ask Amara to help save Sam. He, Castiel and Crowley had tried to figure it out themselves, without Rowena, but after a week of nerve-racking research, Dean couldn't stand to keep Sam waiting any longer. After getting Castiel to strong-arm Rowena into Heaven's jail (because Hell wasn't nearly as secure), Dean had nowhere else to turn but the Darkness. Lucky for Dean, she hadn't asked for anything in return. It seemed as though she just really wanted Dean to like her.

Dean tried to do the math once they got Sam back intact. A year topside is like forty years in Hell. So a week is like forty weeks, right? That's two hundred and eighty days. Give or take, because it was somewhere in the middle of the eighth day before they actually got him out. That's damned near a year in Hell time. Sam was there for a fucking _year._

It explained why he hadn't spoken yet.

Amara had sent Sam directly to Dean, apparently hanging around in Hell herself for a while afterward. Dean decided not to think about that fact. Instead he scooped his unresponsive skyscraper of a brother up off of the ground, carefully slid him into the back seat of the Impala, and drove non-stop back to the bunker. Two hours and fifteen minutes of Sam waking up, freaking out and then passing out, in intervals of somewhere around ten to twenty eight minutes at a time.

It had been the scariest ride in Dean's entire life that didn't involve a bleeding wound. The last time Sam passed out on the ride lasted about half an hour. Dean sobbed like a little girl the entire time. By the time they pulled up to the bunker, Dean's eyes were dry. He'd resigned himself to being angry instead.

Sam wasn't conscious when Dean picked him up and carried him inside. Something flashed in his mind with pictures of Sam carrying him in like this not all that long ago; lifeless and bloodied from Metatron's sword through his chest. That moment leading them to exactly where they were now.

Goddamn their lives were fucked up.

Sam woke up before Dean could get him to bed, and that proved to be a colossal problem. Sam jolted awake and flailed so wildly that he fell out of Dean's arms and cut his arm open on the edge of a book shelf.

"Damn it, Sam! Calm down!" he yelled as he hovered over his brother. Sam froze. Just like that. He looked wide-eyed up at Dean, his frame shaking, a thoughtful look on his face. Dean melted with guilt. "I'm sorry," he told him. "Jesus, Sammy, I'm sorry. I just don't want you to hurt yourself is all."

"Dean?" Sam said in a small, uncertain voice.

Dean's brows furrowed as he looked into his brother's eyes. There had been so many moments in the car that Dean had tried to convince him that he was safe; that he was there and he'd saved him and they were going home, and nothing he'd said had gotten through to him. _"You're not him! You're not him! You can't make me! I won't!"_ is all he'd keep saying over and over, and then the screaming as if he were being torn apart...right before he'd lose consciousness. But now? Now he was looking up at Dean as if he'd just seen through the cracks.

"Sam?" he cautiously replied, crouching down beside him where he'd fallen moments earlier. "You with me now?"

Sam looked cautiously around them, surveying the room as if for booby traps or some kind of giveaway that this wasn't real. He was still shaking, his breath rattling with every exhale. "Dean?" he said again, and once more met his eyes.

"Yeah, it's me," Dean told him, shaking his head in disbelief. "You okay?" Sam's chin quivered and he let out a breath that sounded like a sob. Dean had to pull himself together. "You hurt your arm, Sam. Will you let me see it?" He reached a hand out toward the injured arm, and Sam looked down at himself as if he'd not even felt anything wrong. He held his bleeding arm cautiously out to his brother. "Thank you," Dean told him, meeting Sam's eyes again before taking his arm in both hands to examine it. "Geez this is a bleeder. The hell did you manage this on a bookshelf? I'm gonna need to stitch this up."

"Dean..." Sam's voice cracked with the word, and Dean met his eyes again. Sam's were filled to the brim with tears that were right on the precipice of falling. He let go of Sam's arm, fearing he'd hurt him, but then Sam reached out for him, hands clinging to Dean's shirt and dragging the older man toward him as he all but crawled up into his lap. He latched onto Dean like he was six again, arms and legs winding as hard as they could wrap around whatever part of Dean they could manage to.

Dean was stunned for a moment, but his brain quickly remembered how to react to this kind of embrace from his little brother. He pressed the side of his face against Sam's, just like they did back then. Just like when Sam got too scared and needed the extra contact that could only ever work if it was his big brother.

Back then, Dean would scoop him up in his lap and let the kid octopus onto him as he blanketed Sam with as much of himself as he could, then rock side to side, sometimes talking and sometime singing just barely above a whisper so Dad didn't wake up.

Sam was much older now, not to mention giant. So it was baffling that he'd managed to accomplish this position again. Dean was certain that if he could see them, he'd be laughing at how ridiculous it had to look. But right in that moment he decided to concentrate on rocking, now that Sam seemed to be sufficiently latched on, face tucked into his brother's shoulder.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said softly as he rocked them. Sam made a sound that Dean couldn't quite interpret; something of a mix between a sob and a laugh. "I've got you. It's gonna be okay."

"I...I'm h-home," Sam's voice continued to crack as he spoke, and it broke Dean's heart a little more each time.

"Yeah, Sam. We're home. Told you I wouldn't let you stay there. I promised, right? I got you outta there, and now everything's gonna be okay. You're gonna be just great, Sammy. Okay?"

"Dean," Sam said again, pulling away a bit so he could look at his brother. "It's really you." His fingers traced over Dean's face as if he was inspecting its true existence. Dean's eyes stung with unshed tears as he watched his brother. The struggle wasn't so much unlike a drowning victim being resuscitated; air being breathed in finally with the continued battle to expel what was left inside. The aftermath would leave him debilitated, no doubt. But Dean would be here with him, no matter what.

"I'm s-sorry," Sam almost whispered, his eyes downcast now. His hands held onto Dean's shirt again. "I'm so sorry, Dean..."

"Hey, no no no, Sam, it's okay. You got nothin' to be sorry for," he told him, trying to pull him back against him.

"I didn't listen. I'm so sorry... Please don't leave me..."

"Sammy," Dean broke, tears finally falling over as he pulled Sam to him in a crushing embrace. "I won't ever leave you, baby brother. You hear me?" His voice cracked as he spoke. It was hard to keep the strength in his voice as he'd intended. Sometimes staying strong for Sam was the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life.

"Love you so much," Sam cried into Dean's shoulder, squeezing back with everything he could.

"I love you too," Dean replied, the lump in his throat becoming unbearable.

"Please let this be real," Sam said almost too quietly for Dean to hear. "Please. Please let this be real. Please...Please..."

Something boiled in Dean's gut at the statement. He was devastated and angry and...something he couldn't even identify. The things Lucifer must've done...

"Sam, this is real. I swear to you," he told him sternly as he pulled away just enough to get his brother to look at him. "You see this?" he said, grabbing Sam's injured arm again and turning it so that he could see the blood still slowly seeping from it. "You remember last time? Remember what I said about the pain?" He felt like a complete dick, but it was necessary. He stabbed the pad of his thumb against the cut, and Sam cringed and let out a grunt. "Remember, Sammy?" Dean asked again. "This is real, okay? I'm real, and you're really home, and neither of us is going anywhere, okay?" Sam's face was pinched with pain, but he nodded. "Good. Now I need you to breathe, alright? I need us to both chill out here for a minute so I can patch you up. Think you can breathe for me?" Sam nodded again, twitchy but certain as he began to take some purposeful breaths. "That's real good, Sammy. Keep that up. I'm gonna grab the first aid kit. It's right there at the end of the hall, see?" He gestured toward the red box up the hall. "I can see you the whole time. I'm not leaving, okay?" Sam worried his lip between his teeth, but nodded anyway...

Within half an hour, Dean had Sam cleaned up, bandaged, changed and in bed. Sam seemed to be much more focused, now. Dean's current mission was to get him to drink an entire bottle of water. He was only halfway there, but he wasn't going to force him, either. So he sat there beside him, both of them leaning back against the wall, Sam's fingers still grasping Dean's shirt. It seemed like some kind of torture whenever Dean wasn't right there beside him, and Dean had seen enough of that look in Sam's eyes for one day. If being right there next to him helped him to feel better, he'd do it as long as he had to. It kinda made Dean feel better too, anyway.

Sam didn't say much. He seemed to like hearing Dean's voice, so Dean just talked and talked about whatever mundane thing he could think up. Most of it was stories from when they were kids, stupid things Dean had done when playing hookie from school. Some of the stories even made Sam smile a little.

When he started yawning and burying his face into Dean's side to try and hide the fact, Dean shook his head and grinned. "Kiddo, you should try and get some sleep. You really need it." Sam immediately tensed up beside him. "Hey, what's the matter?" Dean asked, concerned.

"Stay?" Sam asked in a quiet voice. Dean furrowed his brows thoughtfully for a moment. "Please, Dean?" he asked again. He looked up at him then, eyes reddening. No way could Dean let him start that all over again.

"Alright, alright," he told him, feigning annoyance, yet adjusting the pillows so they'd be more comfortable. "I could use the sleep, too, I guess."

Sam relaxed immediately, taking more comfort from the fact that Dean was staying than he could even comprehend in the moment. Once Dean was flat on his back, Sam curled up enough to rest his forehead up against Dean's shoulder, tucking his arms in between his chest and Dean's arm. They were both silent for a few long moments, eyes getting heavy with each passing second. Suddenly Dean was hit with a memory of his mother, and the urge to share it was overwhelming.

"Hey, Jude," he sang softly. "Don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better." He felt Sam's breathing begin to even out as he drifted off. Dean hummed the rest of the song to himself as he closed his eyes, contented and comforted by the presence of his brother beside him.

They were going to be okay. The world around them was...as always...in danger, and they'd have to fix it. But right now, they were okay. They were together. That's all that mattered...

~fin~


End file.
